Shuffling the Cards
by redrhapsody
Summary: Emma picks her card. Steed deals the deck. An old nemesis seeks to reclaim his rose. But no rose is without its thorns...rnAlert: If you have not seen the Joker, this will be hard to understand. YAY! ADDED NEW CHAPTER! EAT THAT, WRITER'S BLOCK!
1. A new assignment

Shuffling the Cards

(This is my first atempt at Avengers fanfic, hope you like it!)

It was December, another dreary day in a whole run of similar weather. Snow wafted from the clouds, to frisk and flit down to the ground and blanket it in white. To put it shortly, it was very, very cold.

Mrs Emma Peel was sitting in the chicest café on the chicest street of London, idly sipping a steaming coffee and musing over a newspaper. Every now and then she would flip over a page, her brow creasing in intent, her dark eyes skimming across the page.

The room was heavy with the warmth of the log fire burning in the corner, warding away the chill that was desperately trying to steal the room. Emma found it rather stifling.

She took another sip of the piping hot drink (One lump of sugar, and a dash of milk), glad for its comfort on a frigid day such as this, and flipped over a page, with that thoughtful gaze.

It was quite nice to be alone for once, having a quiet cup of coffee and a reeducation of current affairs. Steed was out visiting an old acquaintance from his WWII days, of whom he hadn't seen since. Truth to be told she missed the man a little, even though she had just seen him this morning. But she could never really get enough of that charming voice, the playful bantering they shared so much between them and that naughty roguishness of a young boy – that was far less than his physical years.

Hey ho, Emma thought to herself, and finished another spread of newspaper. And despite her concentration on the print, every time she heard the wind whisk through the door as it was opened, she looked up, hopeful. He had this talent of always knowing where she was: in clutches of diabolical mastermind, taking her Lotus Elan sports car for a spin, or simply reclining at her flat with a juicy book. Always.

The girl gave herself five more minutes before she left, then she drained her coffee and – she was about to get up, but she paused. Her intuitive eyes were fixed firmly on the bottom of her empty cup. They were widened in surprise. There was her name, boldly printed on the bottom of the cup.

**Mrs Peel.**

Then her surprised face slid slowly into that rather lopsided, ironic smile (or maybe, smirk would be more apt). She heard the wind at the door and immediately turned, to see that familiar form framed by the door.

The impeccably dressed strode towards her table and turned his bowler hatted head towards Emma's now sincerely smiling face and uttered a simple sentence.

Said John Steed, the best agent of the Ministry of Defense to his talented amateur partner Emma Peel:

"We're Needed."

Emma and Steed walked briskly through the sterile halls of the underground morgue, deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Defense, occasionally pausing for Steed to swipe an officious security pass at checkpoints, and tipping his bowler to numerous guards.

Ever the gentleman. It made Emma smile.

"So Steed, dastardly murderer, unexplainable oddity, natural causes?" She questioned in her strong yet lilting voice, "What have we got this time?"

He placed his twinkling eyes on Emma. Normally he would have handed her some kind of brief, a document. But today wasn't normal. Steed seemed graver and not himself.

"Murder. Well, we weren't originally to be placed on this assignment," he paused, and sighed, "But it was thought imperative you should know."

"What? Why?"

"Here we are Mrs Peel," he seemed unwilling to give any information up for her.

"But-" She started, her stubborn streak wasn't letting Steed get away.

Before she could finish though, she and Steed were admitted to a stark room in the morgue and greeted by an older, graying fellow.

"Good Morning Steed!" Said the man cheerily.

He was slightly pot-bellied, with a ruddy face, small eyes hiding under comet brows and behind an extremely oddly shaped nose. It was bulbous, yet refined at the tip, much like half a lemon had been screwed onto his face.

"Hello, Bradbury. This is Mrs Peel, I trust you have met?"

"Yes, but each time is a renewed pleasure." He delivered it like a rich Scottish infused line of the Sean Connery James Bond and smiled in a way he supposed was charming.

I do not with to be buttered up with corny clichés by an aging pant-puller, she growled in her mind, I want to know what's going on.

Emma put on a smile. She noticed Bradbury ogling her. Oh hell, no. She stiffened visibly.

"Now, uh…" She prompted.

"Oh yes." He chuckled.

Emma raised a solitary eyebrow.

He led Steed and Emma across the room, pausing for a moment, then he pulled out a draw with a rattling slide.

"The victim was found nine a.m. yesterday, in a field near Risley Dale, ah, a section of the ah… Hamford reserve, I do believe it's called," he announced, "Gunshot wound, point blanc to the heart, in fact there's virtually nothing left of it."

"Well it certainly gives a new perspective to one's heart being broken." Purred Steed, with that sly boyish smile.

Now the draw was fully extended, Bradbury extended two furry hands, and removed the cloth shrouding the still body.

Steed watched with baited breath, monitoring his partner, waiting until she displayed a rare flicker of emotion.

Emma Peel could scarcely believe her eyes. Her beautiful face took on an anxious, confused expression. She shook her head, repeatedly breathing to herself "No, it can't be."

The blonde woman lay peacefully on her deathbed, her mouth open, revealing a gap between her two front teeth. She brought back a flood of memories.

Memories Emma was hoping to forget, and remain never to be revived, to rust and tarnish in a separated part of her fantastic mind.

But here they came, swirling back. She breathed heavily.

_Snip, snip, snip. That raving young woman. _

_Snip, snip, snip. Flowers… roses everywhere._

_Snip, snip, snip. The man, who was he? Then the scream._

_Snip, snip, snip. Steed, where was Steed? Help! Help! Snip, snip, snip. Then HE was there, calling me, "Emma, Emma". But where? Who?_

_Snipping, snipping. Me. He was cutting me. Steed, where are you? Steed! My Steed! Help! Panic, helplessness…_

_My love, my rose…_

_My love, my rose…_

_My love, my rose…_

_Love… Rose…_

_Over and over…_

_That night… but then he was there, Steed came, ever dependable Steed.. _

_But the horror… what happened… it won't… it won't – fade away._

Emma continued to stare in a frightened disbelief.

She was dressed in a white gown. Was it the same one? Emma wondered.

A single, glorious red rose lay undisturbed on her chest. Emma reached out and picked it up, gently. She studied it.

_My love… My rose…_

_My love… My rose…_

_Meine Liebling… Meine Rose…_

_Such a brutal language._

She gave a strangled sob.

Only Bradbury awakened her from her trance.

"This is how we found her," began Bradbury, "Her name is-"

Emma finished it for him.

"Ola Monsey-Chamberlain."


	2. Contemplation

Steed and Emma hoisted themselves into the green Bentley currently parked in the Ministry's own car park. He revved the engine gently, and with its soft growl, they were off along the snow-flecked road. It had stopped snowing for a while now, a good thing too. The streets were thick in the ankle deep whiteness.

Emma sat stiffly in her seat, deep within the reaches of her mind. As the car wound its way through the streets of the city, she could feel Steed's warm gaze upon the back on of her neck. She wanted to say something, but for once she couldn't find any words. She just continued to stare out to the rapidly melting world around the Bentley, her dark, calculating eyes filled with unexpressed thoughts.

And there, suddenly, they were at her apartment. The car flowed to a halt. Mrs Peel faced her friend, faced those warm gray eyes - that seemed to let her into a part of that complex soul. She felt strangely distanced.

"Are you all right?" Steed was sincere.

"I'm fine… Fine," she reassured him when he shot her a knowing look, "Goodbye Steed." She didn't quite look him in the eye.

"Goodbye E- … Mrs Peel." He did.

He knew he should just leave her to herself for a while.

She slid out of the car. Trudging softly through the snow, she twirled the knob on the door and withdrew up the stairs. There she could sort out her addled thoughts.

Steed didn't move the car until he saw the lights flick on in her apartment.

Emma remembered her feet taking her up the stairs, the keys suddenly jangling in her grasp and her apartment door creeping open, all mechanically. She slipped off her coat and sunk onto her couch, her body slumped in some kind of resignation.

It was a sign, wasn't it? It couldn't be anything else. How could it be? No, the fact was: he, Prendergast, was back, and this meant Emma was in danger. She thought of that weekend… a fear of which she had never quite held before. Oh, God, she thought to herself. She ran her fingers across her brow, brushing away straggling locks of hair.

It felt like a dream. It all wasn't processing properly.

It didn't seem credible.

Emma could feel her heart starting to hammer in her chest. Not again… It can't happen again… Oh please no…

No.

I've done it before. I've fought these fears. I can again. I have no fear. I have no fear…

Prendergast is back, and I might very well be in danger, and that's the simple truth. This time I'll be ready. This time.

So like her other concerns and worries, she locked them away, deep down in her heart, to keep them from her.

The fearless Emma Peel.

The night before seemed like a surreal blur. Emma peeled herself off the couch. Groggily she clambered to her feet. She had fallen asleep last night there, remembering suddenly being overcome by a wave of exhaustion.

She chanced a glance at her clock, hoping she hadn't awoken at some ungodly hour. It was around ten past seven in the morning. Better get up.

She groaned and trudged into her bathroom, and then slithered into a hot shower. She was just starting to enjoy herself, soaking up the heat of the gloriously temperate water when -

The phone rang.

Silently pouring out a stream of impolite words the girl stomped out of the shower, hurrying to pull a towel around herself and sped down her hallway, trying desperately to hold up the towel.

She flung her arm at the telephone, and grasping it in soggy fingers, and put it to her ear.

She knew exactly who it was.

"Steed."

"Mrs Peel! Good Morning!" The man said cheerily.

"Steed do you know what-"

"Ah, glad to hear you're feeling better now. I just thought I'd pop over for breakfast."

"Well I-"

"Good!"

"Goodbye Mrs Peel."

"Good-bye Steed."

It seemed Steed wasn't going to take no as an answer. Probably because he knew it would almost definitely be the answer he'd get.

Emma stalked back to the shower and immersed herself under the flow. Despite her annoyance, she could hardly suppress a small smile.


End file.
